


After the Flood

by Ael_tRlailiiu



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6953536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ael_tRlailiiu/pseuds/Ael_tRlailiiu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the canon appears to have left Camelot behind forever, it falls to fandom. Here begins my modest effort to do Guinevere justice, starting with Arthur's death and moving forward -- what will she and her people find when they return home? what will they do? and what about Lancelot?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Once Was Stone

Guinevere said, “He’s dead, isn’t he.” She sat on her bunk, composed and elegant even after a month in Storybrooke’s jail. 

Merida stopped in the doorway and glared at Sneezy. “Who’s been in here?”

“N--no one.” He sniffled. “No one’s been here all day.” 

“Well then how would she know that? Magic?”

“Something like that,” Guinevere said. “But he is dead, then? My husband?” 

“Aye. Now you tell me--”

“It was foolish of him to try an escape with no plan. How did he die?”

“Hades killed him.” She readied her bow and edged closer to the cell. She had expected threats or outright denial -- though probably not hysterics -- not this calm pre-knowledge.

Guinevere clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. “It should have been me.” 

“I’m so--how’s that again?” She kept her arrow ready. 

“It should have been me who killed him.” Guin raised her head to reveal an expression hard as slate. Her eyes glittered with rage, not tears. “What manner of death found him, after all this time?”

“Broken neck, looked like. No one saw it happen.” Merida decided to leave off that he had looked like a shell washed up on some deserted shore, his armor wet from the rain and river mist. It was no way for a warrior to die, even as vile a one as that. 

“Is that so.  _ Good for him _ .” She unclenched her hands and stood up. “Do you know of the Sands of Avalon?”

“Can’t say as I do, but I sense a tale to be told.” She pursed her lips skeptically. 

“Oh, it is that. Allow me to tell it you, and perhaps you will speak to someone about releasing me from this place.” 

She talked. Merida listened, then went in search of Snow White. She found Snow surrounded by her family, answering phone calls and passing out books. 

“Merida, thank goodness. Could you give us a hand with these books? We’re trying to find whatever Hades’ weakness is.”

“I’ll do that, but first I have to ask ye something. I went and spoke with Her Camelot Majesty, to break the news, you know, and….” She looked at the others, weary and broken-hearted after their return from the Underworld. “Can I talk to you alone for a moment?”

“We are in the middle of a crisis. God of death in town?”

“Aye, as usual. T’was quiet as a grave before you all came back. This won’t take but a moment, I swear.” She pulled Snow aside and related the gist of Guin’s story. 

“...And you believe her?” Snow arched her eyebrows. 

“She’s been quiet as a mouse for all of these weeks, but just now? You could touch paper to her and light a fire. I knew that fellow was a right slimy bastard the moment I set eyes on him.” 

Snow rubbed her forehead. “All right. Take her out to the camp. See what people out there say, if she’s telling the truth, they should be able to vouch for her. And see if you can find any volunteers to keep order in town while you’re at it, we’re short on dwarfs.” 

*

Guinevere waited. Gods, she knew how to wait. The dwarf on guard watched her nervously over his spectacles. 

Her first fury had ebbed. Everything felt different, smelled different. The taste of the air had gone from muffled to painfully sharp in an instant. The fabric of her dress felt harsh under hand, though perhaps that was due to how tightly she gripped it. Dead. Arthur was dead. Her body felt painfully aware and alive, but her thoughts could not move from that singular fact. 

Merida came back, water beaded in her bright red hair. She flourished a set of keys and set about unlocking the cell. 

“I’m supposed to take you out the camp. I don’t suppose you know anything about how to kill a god? Nothing in that box of magic whatnots that you’ve suddenly remembered might help here?” 

“I don’t think so, but you’re welcome to the lot.” All those fogbound years she had watched knights ride out and return with this or that bit of magical power, fuel for Arthur’s obsession. Anger threatened to make her voice shake. “I never want to see any of it again.”

“Fine by me. Let’s go get you back to your folk.” They set off through wet, empty streets lined with dark windows. Curtains twitched as townsfolk watched the two women pass and wondered, perhaps, at what business took them out on such a desperate night. 

If Hades destroyed them all before morning, she would find no grounds for complaint, for having had at least a few hours to be herself again, breath and heart belonging to none other. Exaltation and anger followed each other in turns. 

Guinevere sought some distraction. “Hades. What business has he in Storybrooke? I suspect that I’ve not heard all of the news these past few weeks.” There had been day after day of dull and silent hours in the jail, the newspaper full of incomprehensible stories, whispered conversations among their guards, an occasional visit from their own people, strictly supervised. Arthur had paced and muttered to himself and eventually broken out with promises to return for her, and so Guin had… waited. The time had been peaceful, by her lights.

Merida shook her head. “Damned if I know. Something to do with the green witch and her baby. This whole town is crazier than a bear in a still.” 

They found the camp in chaos, lights blazing and people roaming about while they argued. Not everyone there had been affected by the sand; others had come to Camelot over the years and never knew the kingdom’s origin. A dozen voices demanded to know what had happened, what should be done, who should do it. 

Merida stopped and leaned on her bow. “So you’re saying that as soon as he died…?”

“The spell of the sands lost direction. For a broken thing to appear fixed, someone must be looking at it.” A  _ thing _ . She pulled a few deep breaths of the cold night air. 

The blue-clad woman scowled. “Can’t stand magic. Hey, you lot!” 

They ignored her until Guin walked out into the melee. A ripple of shocked silence spread around her as she was recognized, and then a new babble of voices asking questions. 

“Gather everyone,” she said. “It will be easier if all can hear.” That took some time. Under the glare of the makeshift lights, she watched them gather -- the knights and ladies, the advisors who had once been her fellow villagers, the bewildered newcomers, the children who remembered no other world than the glittering castle. 

“Some of you know that many of us have long been under a spell. That spell was put in place by my husband, in a mad quest for the perfected kingdom he thought himself destined to rule. The spell has broken. The king is dead.” Fresh muttering swept over the crowd. “For some of you this is a shock. For others it is long overdue. For many years we have been trapped in a waking sleep, our wills no longer our own. That sleep is ended with Arthur’s death. Perhaps it was fated to be so, as was so much else. We are yet cursed to this realm, however. Whether we are to stay here or endeavor to return to our home, there is much to be done. There will be no new Camelot here, not while I breathe, but there must be some path for us.” 

She took a breath to still the threatened shiver in her voice. “I have not been among you as myself for many years, and I will not presume now to command you. Now that we are… ourselves, again, I think we must take counsel.” 

Bewildered as they all were, the questions went on for more than an hour. By habit, the people looked to the Round Table for leadership, and a consensus rose thereby. Guinevere waited. After long debate, they chose Sir Lionel spokesman. 

He strode over to Guinevere on long, thin legs and bowed with all the solemnity of a graying stork. “You were our queen before any of this happened, and we are content that so you shall remain.” 

“Then I shall do my best to honor your trust. Before all else, our hosts need assistance.” She collected a half dozen young volunteers and sent them off with Merida to help in town. It was long after midnight before she faced her own tent. The place looked as if it hadn’t been touched since the Night of the Dark Ones. 

Of course, Grif was dead. Guin hesitated in the tent’s opening, suddenly at a loss. 

“Milady?”

“Alinor.” Guin turned with a desperate sense of relief. “I didn’t see you earlier.” 

“I heard it all,” her lady-in-waiting said. “I don’t rightly know what to say. I never imagined that all of it was… as it was, all those years before I came to court.” 

“There’s nothing to be done about it now.” Guin squared her shoulders. “I could use a hand setting this to rights, if you’ve a moment.” 

“Of course. I’m sorry it was left in such a state. No one knew what ought to be done with it right away, and I suppose with one thing and another--”

“It’s fine. Really. You’ve had more important things on your mind than some canvas.” They aired out the stale bedding, removed a mouse nest, and sorted what could be saved from what the damp had gotten into. By the time they were done, Guinevere felt nothing but an exhaustion like lead in her bones. She lay down at last only to find herself both weary and ineluctably wakeful, and remained so until morning, when news arrived of Hades’ defeat. Guin spent the day catching up on events in the camp since her imprisonment.

“There is a dragon in the woods, but it’s a friend of the queen. No hunting allowed,” Benwick said. The oldest of the knights, he was broad-faced and balding, and had a slow manner of speaking that belied a keen mind. “There have been a few fights -- most of those we settled among ourselves, a couple with the town. No goings-on with the local lasses or t’other way around… that I’ve heard about. Folk have been restless without knowing what was going on, sort of thing -- how long will we be here, who’s in command, how to get things done. Can’t say I think much of how this place is organized. Whole leadership going on some fool’s quest to the Underworld? Leaving that wild girl in charge? Lunacy.” 

“She is a queen,” Guin reminded him. The rain had forced them to sit inside the tent, at the table that could be folded up and put away, surrounded by familiar things. A perfectly normal day had been spent dealing with the business of her people. Cold rain patted the tent overhead. She pulled her borrowed woolen wrap tighter.

Just another day. 

“She is a child, and far too fond of shooting.”

“I expect she’s learning. Is there anything else?”

“The funeral this afternoon. For their Sir Robin.” 

Guin suppressed a sigh. “Perhaps I ought to send a note. I doubt they’ve much room in their thoughts for us today.” She could not help but think of Percival. There remained the question of what to do with Arthur’s body, but she could not face that just yet. 

She had come home to herself after long absence, and nothing would ever be the same. The first exhilaration of freedom had gone, and she felt strange and uncertain. Every motion carried the seed of a hesitation -- was it habit that so moved her hand or her thoughts, or her own long-slumbering will? She walked about the camp and saw her distraction mirrored in other faces, and did not know what to say to them.

The following day dawned as clear and bright as the previous had been mournful -- and brought the news that they might all be stranded in this world forever. Since they had arrived with little more than the clothes they had been wearing that night when the Dark Curse descended on Camelot, there was little to prepare. They carried what rations they could and set forth. There was little time for farewells, for those among them who had found friendship in Storybrooke -- and for one whose daughter, according to their best information, had run off with the son of the woman whom Guin had been variously informed to be the Savior, the former Dark One, and a sheriff, and also of the Mayor and the Evil Queen. 

She could hardly blame the boy for running away. 

“Of course I understand,” Guin said when Sir Morgan announced that he would be among those remaining behind. She pressed his hand between hers. “You have given many years of loyal service. I am sorry you received such poor payment.” 

“I enjoyed the dream that was the Camelot I knew, but this was my home once, or something like it. Fate willing, it will be my daughter’s, too.”

“I’m sure she won’t come to any harm, not with so many searching for them. Young folk will go on quests.”

“They will, but I’m going to have words with that young man’s parents when they get back, that’s for certain.” He grimaced. “Perhaps we shall all meet again.”

With everyone else accounted for, the journey began. She sent the knights first, in case anything should be waiting on the far side of the portal, and watched the rest pass through. Four of them carried Arthur’s body on a bier, covered. 

“Beg your pardon, Your Majesty.” 

Guin turned to see a dark-haired man with one hand, dressed in black. Her brows drew down. “I thought you were dead.” She remembered him in Camelot, and later, but names were difficult to pull out of the mist the Sands had laid over her all those years. Hadn’t the Savior-Dark-One returned from her quest defeated? 

“Aye, I was. Bit of a long story, that.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. “But it’s related. I have tidings of your late husband, should you wish them.” 

“Of… oh.” She regarded the envelope without moving for a long moment, then reached out to take it. “Thank you.” She could always burn it. She turned back and found Snow White. “I’m afraid I can’t exactly say it’s been a pleasure - for either of us, I’m sure.”

“I know.” Snow gave her a rueful smile and held both her hands. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to know one another under better circumstances.”  

Better than you coming to a castle under evil enchantment, bearing a secret evil of your own? One that would rip us all from our home, and through the strangest possible circumstance break the spell laid by my mad husband, and send us back at the hands of his ally? 

“As am I,” was all she said. “It has been a strange road. But you were kind to my people in their exile, and that will not be forgotten.” 

The last of her folk disappeared through the doorway; the Merry Men gathered for their farewells. 

Guin stepped through the high wooden frame and out into another world, with Merida a step behind her. 

“Where the hell are we?” Merida said, frowning as she looked around.

“Camelot,” Guin said. “This is how it truly looks.” A tumbledown village lay around them, long abandoned, with a single stone tower barely visible through the trees. People milled through the overgrown streets and out into what were once cleared fields. The woods rang with exclamations of surprise, or pleasure at finding familiar places and dismay at their condition. 

“All them walls and towers and…?”

“False, all of it. And it was beautiful, but it was hollow and filled with poison, and this is so much better.” She took a deep breath. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to set out for your land at once?” 

“Aye, gods know what’s become of it while I was away. Perhaps they’ve been turned into weasels this time.” She put out her hand. “Farewell, Your Majesty.”

“And you, Your Majesty.” She watched Merida’s bright blue dress vanish into the forest, then turned her attention to what remained of the village she remembered. The well, the tower, the lanes now full of brambles were all the same, but Merlin’s tree was gone. Saplings had already sprung up from the bare ground that had once surrounded it. 

A shout from the far side of the village drew her attention. Deserted though the place appeared, someone had been there recently; an attempt had been made at clearing one of the streets. A tall, armored man emerged from the trees and stopped, then came forward with long, quick strides. The newly-returned people of Camelot stared. Guinevere took a few more steps; for the second time in as many days, the ground had vanished out from under her. He stopped a few paces away, went down to one knee and bowed his head.

“Lancelot?”


	2. Chapter 2

“You can stand up,” Guinevere said. She sounded thin and strained to herself, felt barely able to breathe for a moment, let alone to move.

“My lady.” Lancelot looked at her for a long moment. “Are you--”

“Yes. The spell is broken. I’m sorry about having you thrown in prison. About--please. Stand.  I forgot how tall you are.” She remembered their audience, the dozens of perplexed eyes upon them, and collected herself. “No doubt many of you recall Sir Lancelot, boon companion to--to our late king.” She saw his eyes widen; he bowed his head for a moment, and she wished she had put the news differently. “And a victim, as were many of us, of Arthur’s madness, which sent him first into exile and then to the dungeons of Camelot. It is good to see you again.”

An uncertain cheer went up from the crowd.

“There is much to be done,” she continued. “We have come home. Excalibur may be no more, but the kingdom is here. It is time for us all to build it, with honesty. We will make room for those who came after. Sir Lancelot.”

“Yes, my queen?” He finally stood up.

She wanted to simply look at him until she could breathe properly again, wanted to go to him, to ask him how he could possibly be here. Instead she gathered her cloak around her and said, “Have you seen any dangers in the time you have been in this region?”

“The usual beasts of the forest; nothing else.”

“Then fire and shelter must be our first tasks. Let those of you who once had homes here find them.” She sorted the rest into groups as best she could -- some to gather firewood, others to clearing the well, a party to survey the lake shore, another to get the horses settled.  “Lancelot. Would you come with me? I would make sure the tower is safe. If the walls are sound, it could shelter many of our people.” What he was thinking she could not fathom, though she thought that his gaze had not left her. He nodded at her words.

“Indeed. If you would allow me?” Lancelot preceded her, his armor forcing a path through the brambles that caught on her velvet gown.

Guinevere rolled up her sleeves and used her sword to chop at the stems, widening the way behind him. “And you can tell me all that passed since… since our journey together.” She looked at the tower, at the square where they had danced, all overgrown with cottonwoods and young pines, at the path where they had parted.

“As my queen commands.”

No one else could hear them now. She stopped and said to his back, “Don’t do that. Please.”

He stopped, too, and turned to face her. “I don’t know where we stand, my lady.”

“Neither do I.” The words made her feel like breaking inside. “I don’t know very much of anything today, now that everything is different. But for now, just… speak, please, I want to hear.”

“Very well.” He still didn’t, not until they reached the door. “When I left here, I had no plan, no destination, nothing but my sword. I found work as a mercenary in some of the lands nearby. Never stayed anywhere long. I helped Snow and Charming defend their land from King George. Then I went west. Passed through King Stefan’s lands, reached the sea, and that was when the strange thing happened. Almost thirty years passed, as I later found, in the blink of an eye. In that time, the island I had camped on remained untouched by time, but the rest of the land grew wild around it. I soon learned that while nearly all of the people had vanished, ogres had come.”

“Time did not touch us in Camelot, either. Arthur wanted it to be the eternal kingdom, and so it would have been.” She set her hand against the weathered gray door to the tower. “This appears to have withstood whatever time has passed. In fact,” she gave it a shove, “it’s stuck.”

Lancelot set his shoulder to the door. “Maybe it was fate, then. Soon after that spell ended, however, just as we were getting organized on our little island, Cora arrived.”

“Cora?” They pushed in concert. The door gave way.

“They call her the Queen of Hearts. The Evil Queen’s mother, and twice as dangerous. I don’t know what she did to me. It wasn’t a sleeping curse, but it was… like being a statue, I suppose. Like being almost asleep. It wore off when she died -- of course, I didn’t know that, just that I was alone in what had once been a village. Only picked bones remained.

“There’s little to tell beyond that. I wandered, looking for a means to break the spell of the sands, until a message arrived from my mother to say that grim deeds were afoot in the kingdom.”  

She wanted him to keep talking. “Your mother. Is she well? I remember… Arthur sent knights to her. He was always sending them off looking for items of magic. They returned empty-handed and mazed, when they returned at all.”

“She is quite well, although as your knights found, not so patient as she may have been in her youth.” A smile flickered across his expression and was gone, the first she had seen from him, and it warmed her unexpectedly. “I was on my way to her for aid with the Dark One, but when I reached her dwelling, it was already too late.” He bowed with grave gallantry and gestured to the open door. “After you?”

They stepped into the tower. Guinevere opened the shutters and looked around, struck by its appearance. “It looks just like we left it. When we prepared for war.” She headed for the stairs to the workroom. Lancelot followed her. The ancient treads creaked under their feet. The shelves with their stoppered bottles, the bundles of dried herbs, the map of the heavens on the ceiling, were all known to her. “Some of the books are gone--I forgot about those when we were gathering our things to return. I don’t suppose we’ll need them now.”

“It’s hard to believe that he’s gone. Merlin, I mean. After all of those years waiting for his return.”

“It was a battle he long foresaw.” She went to the window and looked out at the activity below. “I don’t know what it was all good for in the end.”  

“Maybe that’s beyond anyone’s power.” He joined her there. “Knowing, I mean.”

“And yet we must go forward, prophecies or no prophecies.” She did not look up at him, but only at his hand on the sill. She could have touched him, but decided against it. What if he moved away?

“Life goes on. Prince Charming used to say that when a battle went badly for us.”

“A wise man, if a hasty one with his sword.” She straightened her back and turned from the window. “Help me to sort this out? We may need the space, but I do not think these ingredients should be left lying about.”

Later that night, she told Alinor, “I feel I don’t know him any more. Or perhaps it’s myself I don’t know.”

“I think most of us feel the same. There.” She finished making up the pallet. “It’s not a featherbed, but no worse than we had in the camp.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. You needn’t, you know.”

“Have to do something, my lady. About your problem, well, I don’t know what to say. I remember, well, hearing some rumors, but of course I never gave them any heed. It wouldn’t be proper. I don’t know him at all myself.”

“Of course not.” She sighed. “But what do I do now? We can hardly pick up where we parted, as if the years had never been. And I’m not sure where things were then, anyway.” One mad adventure, one kiss, one sorrowed parting -- what was that, at the end of a day?

But he had come back. After all those years, with or without a reason to hope.

“Well,” Alinor said, “what would you have done had you known what would happen here?”

“I can always trust you to be practical.” She shook out another blanket and smoothed it down. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t have gone at all. I like to think that I would not have run away. I loved him once, even if he no longer loved me. I should never have made that bargain with the Dark One.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one to have that regret.” Alinor gave the room and makeshift beds a dubious look. “It’s going to be a crowd.”

“We’ll fit them in somehow. Every cottage in the village will be the same way. I can hardly keep myself separate from my people now.” And I have spent too many years locked in a high tower, alone. “The wind is from the west. It may rain before morning.” She busied herself finding candles. “Tomorrow we can make a start on something more permanent, for whoever is going to stay.”

Before they did that, the people of Camelot held a funeral for their king. The old village cemetery was badly overgrown, but there could be no more delay. Space was hacked out from the thorns and a grave dug. Under an overcast sky, they wrapped him in his cloak and piled stones atop him, and placed a wooden marker until one could be carved of stone. _Here Lies King Arthur of Camelot_.

Guinevere said a few words. He was not always what he became. We can honor the man he once was, if not the man he died as -- something like that. She could never remember, later, what she had said.

Lancelot did not speak at the ceremony. Afterward, he told her, “It’s odd, after all this time. I don’t know what to think about him. The years of our friendship, when we quested together as brothers--that was a lifetime ago. I can’t help thinking that there must have been a way to stop it. Before he took the sword from the stone? Afterward?”

“You tried,” she reminded him. “We all tried. He would not allow it. But now he is gone, and we must make decisions.” She set herself to ask, “Will you be staying?”  

“Of course.” His brows went up in surprise. “That is, if you will have me, of course I’ll stay. This is my home as well.”

“I fear that many will not.” She glanced at the cluster of knights in quiet conversation at the edge of the cemetery. “Those who knew this realm only as the illusion, and those from far-away lands.”

“Some of them will go. Never fear, though. We’ll make this a place where there’s dancing again.”

“You have a great deal of faith, Sir Knight.”

“I have to.” He smiled.

“I missed your smile.” She looked up at him, not sure of what she was trying to see. His broad, honest face seemed to her untouched by time but not by care. The young adventurer she remembered had seen betrayal, war, and sorrows uncounted.

He looked away for a moment, then back at her, the smile a little faded but still present. “I missed you.”

Practicality offered a refuge from her uncertain feelings. “Come, there must be a council now.”

They gathered under the evergreens near the lakeshore, the knights and elders of the court.

“Let us take thought,” Guinevere said, “for how we are to guide the people henceforth. Do not stand on ceremony, please, but speak.”

Pellinor was the first to do so. “What are we to do, Your Majesty? This was always the broken kingdom, but we could look forward to its healing. To the sword being drawn, to the arrival of the king, to the prophecies’ fulfillment. Now we are nothing.”

“Now we are like everyone else,” Guinevere said. “And we can look forward to our lives as free people, under no magical thralldom. No one need feel themselves bound to this place who does not wish it.”

“Where else can we go? We do not even know if our homes remain, after all these enchanted years.”

“That is for you to decide.”

“Well, I’m staying,” Benwick said with a decisive nod.

A damp, tendentious, unhappy day followed. Discussion flowed back and forth through the village-that-was. Their hasty exodus from Storybrooke had left them unevenly-supplied, and Guin spent much of the day taking a census of skills and supplies. Axes rang in the woods, cutting saplings from which they might build lean-tos.

“We have these impenetrable sheets from Storybrooke,” Guin said, “and those will do well enough for temporary shelters. Food will be the problem, I fear. Even if a miracle cleared the fields, it’s too late in the year for planting.” She walked through the village with Benwick at her side and Lancelot following close behind.

“The hunting party seemed full of good news,” Benwick said. “Plenty of boar sign, I’m told. And there are still fish in the lake.”

“And there they may remain. We have neither nets nor anything with which to make them, nor boats.” And they wanted me to lead them, to thread a trail between disasters. She clenched her hands to ward off nerves, and then looked at her golden bracelet with new eyes. “The Sands did not leave us clad in rags, however. If some of the knights go in quest of their former lands, others should go as well, prepared for trade.”

“Then we ought to take some thought to defense, as well,” Lancelot said. “Where riches go, there also go those who covet them. Some among the neighboring kingdoms may hold a grudge from bygone years, as well.”

“We have arms and armor, and horses.”

“But not the walls of Camelot and its hoarded magics.”

“True.” Guin looked again at the little collection of houses. Doors and windows stood open; brooms chased out the dust of years; someone whistled a tune she knew. It looked lively and hopeful and terribly vulnerable, and she felt a kinship with all of those. “We will do what we can. And before too much time passes,” she said to Lancelot, “I ought to pay a visit to your mother.”

Two months went by in a blur. A little more than half of the old population of Camelot stayed -- some of the original villagers, some newcomers looking to make a new life in a real world. Guinevere’s days were full to the seams. The tower slowly emptied of people as room opened up in the village and new houses were built.

When the first of the traders had come back with supplies and some of the worried knots left her spine, she finally read the letter about Arthur.

“That’s... unexpected,” Lancelot said, summing up her own reaction nicely as he put down the creased paper.

“I know.” They were alone in the tower room. He had offered to help move out the last of the additional residents to their own newly completed dwellings. “I’m not sure what to feel. If I ought to feel anything.” An ember of fury still burned in her that could fan into flame if she allowed it to. “It’s not fair that he escaped, after everything.”

“He died,” Lancelot pointed out pragmatically. “That’s not exactly an escape. And few things are fair, my lady. We have to make those where we can. Will you be staying here? In the tower.”

“Yes.” Guinevere frowned at him but accepted the change of subject. “I thought about moving,” she added, with a glance from the checked floor to the ceiling with its painted map of the heavens. “Thought it would be awkward, but… perhaps it’s only that we’ve all been so busy, by the time I fall asleep, I don’t care where the bed is.” She dusted off her hands and noted with some pride how rough they had become. “Or else it’s that so much has changed, that I have changed. It doesn’t feel like the place I once dwelled in at all. We are no longer a people who wait. We are building.”

“As the queen decides.” He grinned at her, then quickly adopted a more somber expression. “It’s far from luxurious, though. As long as I’m here, d’you want anything moved around?”

“A few adjustments, perhaps.” Sometimes Guin despaired of things between them being anything other than awkward. She smiled regardless and said, “I know you want to build a castle. It will be a long while before we can even consider that work. This will serve me well. It’s big enough to be our storehouse in time of trouble, and the room downstairs makes for a good council chamber. I was going to take some of Merlin’s books to your mother. Do you think she would want them?”

“She never had many,” he said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Are you sure you don’t want to keep them? There could be useful information in there.”

Guinevere shook her head. “Magic led us to doom once already. I won’t have any part of it here.”

“I’m not sure all of your council agrees.”

“I know they do not. But the Grail is no more. Whatever good is to be found in magic now, it is too easily used for evil. It poisons folk against one another, and once one sets foot on that path, it is difficult to turn aside, as Arthur and many others have found. The Lady, I trust to watch over them and see that they are not used for any ill purpose.”

He still looked skeptical, but nodded. “We’ll see what she says. Now, where do you want this chest?”

Two days later, frost lay on the grass as they set out into the forest. An hour’s ride brought them to a fork. The wider road led onward, more or less straight. To the left a path branched off to circumnavigate the lack. They turned onto the path and continued at an easy pace. The path had seen regular if not frequent use down the years. It led over the shoulder of the mountain known as the Third Brother and down again through the pine forest. Guin had been tense when they started off, but the peace of the forest found its way into her. They sought no prey, entertained no party of courtiers, fled no danger, mediated no quarrels. Work would continue in the village without her fretting over every spent nail. With a smile or two from the gods, this time next year the mill would be turning again and the fields green with corn.

They camped that night in a pine grove, and the crackle of the fire and calling night birds were better than any music. They did not converse much. When they did speak about anything other than practical matters, it was in widely scattered phrases, a conversation of intervals and thoughtful glances -- about shared moments long ago and old friends.

They drew rein at the bottom of the path, dismounted and led the horses the rest of the way. A stand of trees sheltered a small, neat house on the shore of the lake. A trio of penned goats looked at the visitors dubiously. A little boat lay on the shingle nearby.

The Lady of the Lake opened the door and said, “Come in. I’ve been waiting for your visit.” A head shorter than her son and of slighter build, she wore dark gray, but her sleeves and bodice had been embroidered all over with flowers in many colors. She hugged Lancelot, then took Guin’s slim hands in her own. “Welcome. We meet at last. I regret that my skill was insufficient to counteract the power of the Sands.”

“That is not for you to regret, Lady. Thank you.” She glanced at Lancelot. “I have come for--”

“For a cup of tea, I hope, before we discuss anything of moment. You have ridden far. You must be tired.”

Guin smiled. “I would love some. Thank you.”  

“I’ll see to the horses,” Lancelot said.

“Come inside.” She ushered Guin into the cottage. The ground floor was a single large room, most of it occupied by the stone hearth. It lacked the clutter traditional to a witch’s dwelling. A wide table stood under the window, with a bowl of bread dough rising on the sill. A set of shelves against the far wall held ranks of bottles and jars along with the plates, their tidy labels the only sign of anything unusual in the cottage. A steep stair at the back led down to the root cellar and up to the loft.

The Lady herself appeared to be of strong middle age, with gray threads in her dark hair and lines around her mouth and eyes. Guin knew that could not be quite right, but could not imagine how to figure her age. How long she had lived on this quiet shore, no one knew, any more than they knew from where she had come, or what traveler might have earned her regard such that she bore a son. Lancelot himself appeared inured to the mystery.

“Tell me what you’ve been doing,” the Lady invited as she gathered the tea things. “I meant to visit, see how you were getting on, but then I thought it might be better not to interfere. We have exchanged some messages by bird, but no more.”

“We’re doing well, I think. There’s a great deal yet to prepare before winter arrives.”

“Lancelot tells me that you fret more than you need to.”

“Lancelot is over-concerned, himself,” Guin said firmly and folded her hands around the teacup. “There has been a lot of work, just getting everyone a roof to stay under and making provision for the winter. We have been building as quickly as we can fell trees. And your son has done a great deal of work, taking the knights in hand and organizing patrols, and seeing that they stay in training.”

“I am not surprised. He’s always been a dutiful one.”

“And his ears are burning,” he said, ducking under the lintel. “I hope it was something nice, like how he’ll be putting up some wood for you during our visit.”

They went on talking through the afternoon about the work in the village, about their plans for the years to come. The Lady proved up to date on the news in broad outline, and delighted in hearing the details. Lancelot’s imitation of Sir Benwick put Guinevere in giggles. They had a supper of goat cheese, bread, and fish fresh from the lake.

“We brought these for you,” Lancelot said when the dishes had been cleared. He pulled out the bag of books and laid its contents on the table.

“I don’t know what else to do with them,” Guin said. “Perhaps someday they can be used again, but I see no need for them in Camelot now.”

The Lady looked at the worn leather covers with a knowing and thoughtful air, and nodded. “I will keep them until their owner appears.”

“Owner?” Guinevere exchanged a surprised glance with Lancelot. “Did Merlin have some heir in mind? If there was anything among his papers, it has been lost. His Apprentice, too, has passed on.”

She looked troubled at that. “I did not know about that. After such a long burden of guardianship, perhaps it is for the best.”

“It happened in the other realm, after a battle with the Darkness. Before the Swan woman took it and came here.”

“Ah. It was well attempted, but beyond his strength. But he is not the owner of these books. Someone ought to visit his former dwelling, and see that all there is secure. I will keep the knowledge safe, never fear. But tell me of this other realm, if you would, where so much of moment has happened.”

They talked the candle down. Guin allowed Lancelot to talk her into taking his old bed -- he could hardly allow the queen of Camelot to sleep on the floor in his mother’s house -- and lay wakeful in the loft for a time, listening to the snap of the dying fire and trying without success to read her own heart.

In the morning, Lancelot set about fulfilling his promise of a replenished woodpile. The two women tended the goats and then went for a walk, gathering herbs and mushrooms along the lakeshore.

“You’re quiet this morning,” the Lady observed eventually. “Did we talk you out last night?”

“Not at all. Only I have been wondering if there is something special about this lake, that you are its Lady.” It certainly looked deep, and the water was cold, fed by the mountains for much of the year, but she had seen nothing mystical about it.

“Of course there is.” The Lady looked bemused. “But that is not the matter that weighs on you.”

Guin looked at her basket. “I don’t know what to do about your son.”

“I am familiar with that feeling.” She smiled, a fond and rueful expression. “At least he’s outgrown his tendency to fall in the water trying to show off some feat of balance.”

“That is a blessing.”

“He has loved you for a very long time, dear, and if he thought that caused you pain, he would be off on the road tomorrow, never to return.”

“I know. Perhaps that is why I have not spoken. I fear to send everything wrong with a poorly chosen word. He is kind, brave, loyal. Careful of me. More patient than any man I have ever known. We have shared much. Not all of it has been to the good. I have been wrong before. How am I to know my heart?”

“That is a knowledge afforded to few of us.”

They walked on until the trees fell away. A meadow opened up before them, dotted here and there with flowers. The recent frost had not been kind to them, but a few still held on to their petals

Guinevere picked one. “I didn’t know middlemist grew so far from Camelot.”

“They spread slowly, but they have had time.”

“These used to be my favorite flower. Something special the two of us shared, a symbol of our love. And then he forgot about me, and then.... ” She turned the stem between her fingers, then looked at the Lady. “So what is this? Hope? Betrayal? Loyalty? Death?”

“It’s a flower.” She took it and tucked the stem behind Guin’s ear.

Guinevere laughed despite herself. “You are justly renowned for your wisdom, Lady. You have chosen to live alone here.”

“I do. I can find company when I want it, but I prefer the lake and the wind in the pines to any court musicians. We each take the path that suits us best.”

“And mine is with my people, in their music and their quarrels both. Though it is beautiful here. I hope I may visit again?”

“Of course. Come, let us return and put our foraging to use. I can give you a good meal before you set off, I hope.”

The ringing of the axe echoed through the woods as they neared the cottage, but had stopped by the time they reached it. Lancelot had waded out to knee depth in the cold lake to rinse away the dust of labor.

Guinevere carefully avoided the Lady’s eyes and kept her own on her basket as she said, “I hope you will visit us soon? It will not be a much of a festival this year, but we can promise some diversion, I think.”

“Of course I will come.” She took Guin’s basket along with her own. “I’ll manage these.”

Guin watched her go into the house and turned her own steps toward the pebbled shore. Lancelot saw her approaching and waited, his face an open question.

She did not think it was any magic in the lake that made her see him anew. Indeed, she was mostly struck by how he had changed since the time of their first meeting, his onetime cocksure air leavened with gravitas, his sense of humor deeper. With fresh eyes she saw strength without cruelty, and a love and loyalty that withstood years and battle alike, and she smiled with a pure, unfettered happiness. She kicked off her shoes, waded out into the water and gasped at how cold it was.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing at all is wrong,” she said. She took his hand, still smiling, and pressed the flower into it. “I am happy. Happier than I have been in a long while.” She went up on tiptoe to kiss him, and felt him go still for a long moment before his arms went around her and his his head bent to meet hers.

“We should go in,” he said eventually. “You must be freezing.”

“Let us give your mother a moment to stop looking as smug as I suspect she is,” Guin said. “And then we shall go home.”

“As you wish, my love.”   


End file.
